Au delà de la Ballerine
by the Unrequited Lover
Summary: Meg Giry thought Christine's life was a fairy tale. But beyond the ballerina is a girl who is starting to learn the truth about storybooks. Faced with shadows, she finds that Erik is just Erik, she is just Meg, and love can be real.
1. La fin est parfois le commencement

_Disclaimer: To think that I have to put this in! Let's be logical. Leroux published the book in 1911, did he not? Do you think I was there then?_

_Author's note: For pictures that will be from this story- sarrin. what I learned today? If you listen to "Learn to be Lonely" enough times, it will make you cry._

**Prologue- La fin est parfois le commencement.**

_The end is sometimes the beginning._

Where was Christine? They had entered the underground cavern to find it empty. The cries of "_Trouver ce meurtrier!_ Track him down!" died slowly in the room. Candles were burning. Meg, the first to enter the haunted chambers, looked around in puzzlement. Her dark eyes took in the scenery while others arrived behind her and peered around for the tall figure clad in black.

There was a mannequin with a resemblance to her dear friend Christine so eerie that Meg would have assumed it truly was she, had not the dress it had sported been removed earlier. Beside it on the ground lay a dress Meg recognized all too well. Flickering candlelight showed every detail; it was the "Aminta" costume Christine had worn for the role in the Phantom's opera the spectre forced on her. Meg had seen her in it; pale with fright, eyes shining more brightly than usual with unshed tears, shaking hands. Last Meg had seen of the dress, it was on her best friend as the unmasked man seized her and did another disappearing act. Meg's stomach turned; _cette bête_ had forced her out of the "Aminta" costume, and into something else- she couldn't tell what. Had the beast also watched her as she tremulously undressed? Had he leered at her as the costume- the costume of his own vanquished heroine! - slid to the floor?

Meg began to walk around to the other side of the strange bed, half-hoping the man would be crouching there, carefully replacing his mask, when she felt her boot crush something soft.

The blonde ballerina knelt down and took up something of lace and gauze. It dawned upon her that the object was a veil. Meg crushed it in her hand and tossed it to the ground. Lifting her hand to her eyes, she hid the hot tears dripping down her face. She had said to Christine that her Angel of Music was but a dream, and she had been quite mistaken. If she'd listened before, would Christine have gotten into such a mess?

Meg took a deep breath. No, of course not. She was not to blame; it was the Phantom who had done it. And who was the Phantom?

Meg's drying eyes turned to the room. Once more she felt anger at the outfit, something of outrage. That Christine would wed him after what he'd done! And Christine was to marry Raoul! Not that her friend had told her that…Christine, fearing the Phantom's wrath, had kept it secret from everyone. But Meg knew those sorts of things, and was not upset with the concealment. But the Phantom had surely found out…even if he hadn't known she was to marry another anyway, why would he have cared? He would have tried to force marriage on her anyway.

Meg found she felt that quite peculiar, and felt a funny feeling in her stomach. Wouldn't he have simply raped Christine? Wouldn't that have been all he wanted her for?

But no, he went through the trouble of sewing Christine a wedding dress…Meg shook her head. It was difficult with the excitement to grasp such contradiction; a murdering, stealing, hideous, hellish beast…in love with Christine. Not merely lust, not merely the passion of "The Point of No Return". But love? Meg almost shrugged to herself in trying to overcome that.

She heard great splashes behind her as people neared her. Meg turned and spread her arms. Her bewildered eyes showed any response. The mob slowed, the torches swayed. Someone whispered, _"He is truly a phantom! He has disappeared, taking the soprano with him!"_

There was much discomfited muttering. Meg was not sure what to say. She was glad when another man in the lake addressed the crowd. "The Viscomte must have taken the girl and killed the Phantom!"

"Then where is the body?" came a shout. There was more murmuring as the man thought it out frowning, then silenced them with a reply. "The Viscomte rescued the girl and drove the Phantom out! He's up there now!"

People didn't know what to think, but then a man towards the back shouted, "Then we shall go and greet the Opera Ghost! Come with me!" He began to lead a large group back through the water sluggishly.

People did not trust him at first, but listened and others began to lead. As the light grew slightly dimmer, others began to follow. They were clearing out.

"Mademoiselle Giry?" Meg looked down from where she stood.

"Oui, monsieur?" she asked. It was the remaining person, and he was looking nervously at the retreating group. Mob behaviour, thought Meg. It is simple for a whole group of them to be wild and fearless, but when the mob diminishes the courage does the same.

"Do you not wish to join them?"

"I'll go back later. I want to look for Christine's…dress." The man did not think to look around for it and spot it, luckily.

"Do you not wish to join them, monsieur?" asked Meg politely, looking at the group as they left.

The man nodded his head, and said as he waded back, "Then you'll be all right then?"  
Meg laughed lightly.

"You know my mother Madame Giry; I have inherited her temper. I'll be not bothered." The man continued to leave, shrugging. Meg's eyes glanced up at the ceiling. Chandeliers- like the one that had fallen. Her breathing all but halted- what had become of them all? She took a deep breath, then looked at the gate. And blinked.

There was a rope strung up there. She stared at it. A noose- a Punjab lasso.

Meg knew immediately that someone's neck had been through it- and knew whose. Raoul had come to save Christine, as Meg knew well- she had seen her mother take him down to do the rescuing with her own two eyes. The Phantom had tried to kill him. But then Raoul and Christine had somehow gotten away- and the Phantom was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he had let them go? Meg's mind found this hard to wrap itself around then too; her head was spinning. She shook it slowly, and began to walk around the room towards the lake.

Meg's boot stepped upon something again, but this time the sound was that of breaking glass. Beneath her shoe were shards of glass- reflecting a grey stone ceiling.

Meg looked at the wall. Something else had been overlooked! These mirrors had been smashed. One mirror, and glass lay on the floor before it. Another mirror, glass before it as well. And-

Meg's breath caught again for the second time in so many minutes. On the ground before a curtain lay more broken glass and a candlestick. Surely the heavy golden object had been used to smash each looking glass! But what of the glass on the floor? There were only two mirrors, weren't there?

Meg drew back the curtain and shivered. Behind it was a passageway- a mirror doorway before it. Meg recognized it as being the same sort of passage that she'd found in Christine's dressing-room the night her friend had disappeared.

Meg stared into the dark cavernous hallway, then took a step back. Her foot stepped on the candlestick and she tripped, holding her hand out behind her to catch herself. Her hand landed on a tabletop and she caught herself.

Meg shut her eyes and let her heartbeat slow. Then she rested her head against the cabinet her hand had caught. When she opened her eyes, calmed, she jumped again.

The Phantom!

No, Meg Giry, said the more reasonable voice in her head, just his mask.

Meg got to her feet and looked down at it. Yes, it was indeed the Mask of the Phantom. She picked up the leather object, staring at the eyehole as fixedly as if another eye had stared out of it at her. Then she looked back at the open doorway. It looked like the gaping mouth of a corpse- the corpse that the Opera Ghost could have turned Raoul de Chagny into, but didn't.

Meg stared and stared, then finally stepped forward and jerked the curtain shut. If Christine was going to let that man go, then so was Marguerite Giry.

Meg began walking down the stairs leading into the lake, then she realised that she held the white half-mask in her hand.

She blinked down at it, then tucked it in her shirt and continued.


	2. Dans lequel Meg apprend quelques secrets

_Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera belongs to many people, but the mask belongs to Erik. Or maybe Meg…seeing as she stole it…O.o_

_Author's note: Yes, a romance…but I want the main thing to be how Meg learns about herself through romance, not a relationship…_

_Thanks for reviewing-_

_Ineda Moore- I try to be patient, it's not one of my virtues. Thanks for the great review; this is my first Fanfiction of this genre._

_Carlanime- Well, if the first installment weren't any good, no one would read on._

_Nyssa Damaskinos- Oh, I knew it was you when I saw the 'Nyssa' in there. You know, surprisingly enough, there aren't as many Meg and Erik stories as I had thought there would be._

_SilverFlover- :blush: Gica, you leave the most awesome reviews! And I can't answer your questions; you'll just have to read on…_

_Charity- Me too, I am just so surprised so many people are so in love with Christine and Erik stories! I mean, Christine did choose Raoul, after all._

_Paige Turner3- Your artwork and writing are both amazing, so I'm really touched that you read my story. _

_And now…_

**Premier Chapitre- Dans lequel Meg apprend quelques secrets.**

_In which Meg learns some secrets._

"What do you mean, he's not here?"

"He has to be here! You mean you just let him go?"

"What really happened down there, Viscomte?"

Outraged cries could be heard from the large crowd of people gathering around a miraculously unharmed Raoul de Chagny and an understandably quiet and weary-looking Christine Daae. Meg, unaware of the wet footprints she had left behind her, listened vaguely as she watched with mild interest the firemen dousing the flames before they destroyed the entire opera house. They were winning the battle against the flames that frantically licked at the dripping chairs, trying to grasp hold of something before they were extinguished. Meg felt somewhat numb, though she too felt excitement buzzing at the base of her skull as the crowd pressed the matter of the disappearing Phantom on the young patron and his fiancée.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please," called Raoul to the crowd, his voice softer than he would have liked- no doubt he would have been shouting in the catacombs beneath the opera house- "There is no need to worry! The man that lived beneath the opera house is gone. He has left us in peace, there will be no need to fret over it."

The group was restless and dissatisfied, but Raoul and Christine were both whisked away by a figure wrapped in a shawl- Meg Giry's own mother- before the crowd could continue their quest for information.

There was a slight hissing as the last bits of fire drowned. Meg shook her head, and walked down a hallway away from that place to go speak with her mother and friend.

As she approached, she heard speaking in hushed tones. The nearer Meg came the more she made out. "…he is no longer in the opera house?"

The voice Meg recognized as her mother's.

"No, no…"

"Yes, but we had to tell the mob something…"

Christine and Raoul had spoken at the same time. Meg stepped up to the half-closed doorway then, looking through. She saw her mother straighten and look at them with a steel gaze, then turn her back suddenly, drawing the shawl around herself in an uncustomary display of emotion.

"Madame Giry, what is the matter?" asked Christine, startled, starting up to join the woman, concern on her face.

"Oh, what will become of him?" whispered the elder woman. Christine frowned at Raoul, rubbing the woman's shoulder comfortingly.

"Madame…" Raoul began. "There was nothing you could have done." He stepped forward and took his beloved Christine's hand. Madame Giry turned to face them as Christine looked up at Raoul lovingly.

"Please understand, he let us go," Christine said, still gazing at Raoul, then looking at Madame Giry, whose back was to Meg, still standing by the crack in the door. "He will not harm anyone again. His only wish is to be left alone."  
"Oh, he will be left alone," Madame Giry murmured, more to herself. Meg understood that her mother was not looking at Christine when she said this, rather looking off into some distance, her eyes trying perhaps to penetrate the floorboards.

"Madame-" Christine began, then chanced to glance upon the blonde head in the doorway. Her expression changed to one of delight. "Meg!" she cried. Meg took this as a cue to enter the room and shut the door behind her.

Christine dropped Raoul's hand and lifted her skirt to step around Madame Giry quickly, rushing to embrace Meg. Meg returned the embrace tentatively at first, and then tenderly, a smile warming her mouth. She could feel the tightly wound strands of her friend's hair brush her forehead, could feel Christine smile against her cheek, and then they broke away.

"Oh, how much I worried!" Christine began, a flood of words. "That I would perhaps never see you again…see the sunlight, feel the breeze as we practiced ballet together…" Her expression was one of excitement, but as she spoke, she became visibly troubled, recounting the way she had felt beneath the majestic hallways. Meg nodded her head and held her hand soothingly as Christine's voice broke. Their eyes met. Meg was disturbed by the fearful, haunted look her childhood companion's gaze held. Meg touched the dress Christine wore. "I forgot to bring up the Aminta dress," she blurted.

"Oh, I hope not to ever see it again," Christine exclaimed with uncommon bitterness. "Let it rot down there…"

Meg nodded her head. _Your dress_, she thought. _It's a wedding dress, why are you wearing it?_ But she couldn't bring herself to force the girl relive the hours of darkness she had spent underground without hopes of a future in the light. She nodded her head again.

"And where will you go?" she finally asked, then glanced at Raoul. "You are…you are getting married, aren't you?"  
Christine was radiant. "Oh, we are, we are…when we get a ring…" A distant look misted her eyes, and she shook her head as though freeing it of thought. "But we'll never move too far from you here, of course not."

"And don't forget," Raoul said, smiling lightly and taking his wife-to-be's hand. "We'll be patron and patroness of this opera house."  
"You're still going to fund it?" Meg asked, almost gaping.

Raoul laughed. "Of course! It gave Christine her voice…"

Madame Giry stared at Raoul, though Christine and he, not facing her, could not have known. Meg met her mother's stare and touched each of their shoulders in turn. "Well, you'll catch your deaths in those wet garments. Go change, get something to eat, and sleep…and you know, things always look better in the morning…"  
"In the dawn…" Christine whispered. "In the sunlight…" She nodded. "Yes, you're right. But you're wet too," the soprano suddenly noted, glancing down at the man's clothes Meg wore.

Meg looked down as well. "Oh, oui, that's what I get for leading the mob down to save your life, only to find you're safely out…thank God." Meg had felt a gripping fright of her own as she raced through the accursed water to find her. It resisted, like a liquid army, trying to keep her from Christine. With each passing minute Meg had found herself worrying, terrified of what was happening in whatever secret and strange chambers the Opera Ghost had stolen his Aminta off to. Was Christine weeping now? Screaming? Choking as a noose tightened round her white neck? With each panicked breath Meg took she feared her friend was breathing her last. And then she thought, and then she calmed herself. The ghost would never- _never_- kill her; go through all the trouble of kidnapping her to kill her?

And then Meg had grown afraid once more. If he had not wished to murder her…oh, she could not bare to think of that creature might have been doing to Christine- the girl who was so very like a sister to her!- at any given moment.

And still the water seemed to not let her pass…

Meg felt herself shiver and Christine touched her shoulder. They looked at eachother again. Meg felt hot tears of utter outrage and deep relief threaten to spill over onto her face and she broke the connection first, looking down at the floor, her blonde hair falling over her face.

"We all went through hell tonight, Meg," she heard Christine whisper, and from the corner of her eye saw her friend shudder. Raoul stepped up and wrapped a coat around her, enfolded his arms around her. She buried her face in his shoulder. There was a great still silence, and then Raoul said in a quiet voice, "We'll be going now. Thank you, Meg..."

She stepped back and opened the door as the couple silently walked out. They left with whispers in their eyes and clasped one another's hands as they left, and Meg shut the door without a sound behind them.

She turned back to find her mother standing, staring up at the wall.

"Mother," she said, and walked to her, embracing her fiercely. She felt the mask press into her skin with a small shock; she had forgotten it for the time.

"Oh, Marguerite, you don't know what has happened tonight," said her mother sadly.

"Maman…" Meg swallowed. She had not called her that for such a long time, quite possibly a decade or more. "Mother, what is wrong?"

Madame Giry only shook her head and pulled the shawl around her shoulders. Meg straightened it for her. "Meg, I had known him for so long…for so long…"

"I know, Mother, I know," Meg said, as though she was talking to a child.

"I never knew he would do such a thing…" Meg pet her mother's hair. It was fine and blonde, like her own, and like her own, frustratingly impossible to keep in one style for long. It had already escaped the beautiful chignon it was worn in, or pieces of it had, anyway.

"I always thought…" Madame Giry shook her head. "When I took him away, you understand, I knew what he had done…but it had been an act of survival…"

Meg looked at her mother, curious and unnerved. It was frightening in a way of its own to see her strong mother behave in such a way. And what did she mean, 'took him away'?

"Took him away, mother?" she said, trying to sound conversational as she fought a gentle battle with her mother's chignon.

"From the gypsies…I was just your age, the age you and Christine are…" She shut her eyes briefly and walked towards the centre of the room. "Oh, that poor child! I was to be like a mother to her, but instead I let him…oh!"

"Mother," Meg said, attempting to keep her voice steadied as she walked towards her in a businesslike manner. "Christine and Raoul are not the only ones who need their rest. Let's take you up to your room. Things will be better in the morning."

The woman allowed her daughter to lead her to her bedroom, get her into her nightclothes and tuck her into bed. When she could be certain that her mother was sleeping, Meg finally left her bedside, exiting the room and walking down the hallway to her own room.

Realization came to Meg like a blow to the head- she was exhausted. Making sure Christine and Raoul were all right, taking care of her mother, Meg had not known how drowsy she herself was. Stifling a yawn, she took out her own nightshift and stepped out of the men's boots, undoing the buttons on her men's pants and stepping into the cloth outfit. She went to unbutton the shirt and out came the mask. Meg stared at it, then finished dressing quickly and picked it up as carefully as she would a delicate glass object.

Instinctively, Meg shivered and looked to the full-length mirror in the room. She'd never forget how she had seen that first doorway…or that last one.

The Phantom of the Opera is still here.

Meg's eyes widened slightly and she began to walk, numbly, towards the reflective glass. All she saw was Meg Giry, a blonde with a dancer's toned body, approaching. Meg ran her hands over the gold frame, then tugged at it.

Soundlessly, the mirror slid open. Meg's heart stopped, but there was no one there, no one anywhere near.

She shut it wordlessly and peered into the looking glass. He reflection showed her as holding the mask and she looked down at her hand. She'd forgotten it.

Meg looked back at her reflection and decided she looked as tired as she felt, and this new fear of being discovered by the Phantom did not make things any safer.

But he would not come after her unless…unless he knew of the mask. She looked down at it once more and wished in an instant that she had never taken it with her. It belonged to the Phantom of the Opera, whether he was a man or a ghost, an angel or an apparition. More than that, it belonged to a time when of great sorrow and fear, of oppression. They were memories everyone would want to forget. Meg knew well that her mother would try to go back to her position in the opera house as soon as it was repaired and refurnished, try to forget things- that Christine might even go back to sing again despite the Phantom's existence. By keeping hold of the mask, Meg was forcing these memories to be real. She stroked the leather gently with her thumb and thought. In fact, she mused, she was also keeping the memories alive for whatever ghost lived in the opera house. He would not be able to go back to life as it had been. He would not be able to hide his face…The mask incriminated her. What if he had seen her take the mask? What would she do? Meg felt her heartbeat speed up as her mind raced.

Well, there was nothing to do but to hide it. Meg quickly went to her bureau and opened the bottom drawer; full of all the things she did not wish anyone else to see- letters from her father, which she cherished, some things that were far too special for anyone else to be allowed to see…and a journal in which she recorded her most secret thoughts.

Meg carefully placed the white leather mask on the top, and shut and locked the drawer carefully, then got into her bed.

Marguerite Giry fell asleep to the feeling of water against her legs, holding her back as she tried to wade through it…the sight of white lace, a carefully constructed wedding gown…and the sound of horrible laughter in her ears and all around, the laughter of the Phantom of the Opera.


	3. Dans lequel Meg fait quelques voyages

_Disclaimer:__pleut: Do you have to remind me it's not mine? That's just sadistic!  
__Author's note: I want to tell everyone something: Read the summary. Seriously, it's not a EM fic where Meg and Erik see eachother and fall into one another's arms passionately and say, "Screw Christine and screw Raoul and screw _maman_. We're in love!" I mean, if you want mindless drabble, go find it elsewhere. This story focuses on Meg. And all good romance grows with time. I must commend _**Paige Turner3**_ on her dedication to a EM story that's getting longer and longer and in which Meg and Erik still don't like eachother yet. That shows commitment to In Characterness. I salute you.  
__SilverFlover: You were the first reviewer of the second chapter, and the only one, too. Aren't you special? And yeah, I figured Mme. Giry would feel some worries about him.  
Paige Turner3- Really? Well, maybe great minds think alike. And spell check says…yes, that is how one spells stupendous. Thank you for your much-appreciated support here and on DeviantArt.  
__Kyrene once Blood Roses- Perhaps, though perhaps not. Who knows, with the Opera Ghost?  
__Ineda Moore- I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, then.  
__Linwe Ringeril- Eh, you're still here. So obviously you were lying.  
__Vagrant Candy- Meg is my favourite character, and I study psychology in college. So. _

**Deuxième Chapitre- Dans lequel Meg fait quelques voyages et Raoul tire son épée**  
_In which Meg does some traveling and Raoul draws his sword_

Meg's eyes opened slowly before she raised her hand to hide them from the glare of the deceptively soft light that viciously attacked her sensitive, newborn gaze. The sunlight softly filtered into Meg's room through the glass of a window off to Meg's left. Bones aching from the previous night's exertion, the young woman shut her eyes briefly, and then looked up at the ceiling, thinking quietly to herself.

It was early. It was always early when Meg awoke. She had a horrible habit of getting to sleep late and getting up early, at least whenever they were rehearsing for an opera. The moment there was a slight vacation, she had been known to stay up until the early hours of the morning and sleep through half the day. The other ballerinas all knew the habit and found it amusing, and it was easy to imagine Christine's youthful laughter as Meg finally stepped out after noon. Her mother let it slide, though she always told her it was not a good habit to get into. Meg went over everyone's reactions in her mind. Try as she might have, Meg had a difficult time adjusting herself the same schedule the other girls followed. She had never been synchronized with them, or with anyone, in her life. Her mother had been like that- had driven herself to be better than everyone else, somewhat apart from the world. In fact, Meg was told that before her father Madame Giry had never had _un amant_ in her young life. But Meg was not the same- she might have been different, but it was not out of ambition. It was out of a sort of lethargy of being, a lack of drive- an absence of motivation, not the existence of it. Not to say that Meg was not a hard worker, or that she was antisocial- she enjoyed working on pieces for hours with the other girls there. But at the end of the season, when it came down to it, Meg had never found her life's ambition, nor had she made any great friends.

Meg still had not found any great ambition, but the second had, at least, changed the year she turned seven.

Christine Daae may have been a sad child, but Meg had always been the same, in private. Bonding over a love of stories and the pain of having lost a father at a young age, Meg and Christine had been invariably inseparable throughout their young lives. Meg could not remember a time in which they had been apart. Every childhood memory after Christine's appearance at the opera house was coloured by stolen moments spent in various strange places along the stage and dressing rooms where they were not supposed to be, hiding out where they did not belong, whispering and giggling, taking turns telling stories of faeries and angels and goblins and princesses and spectres…

In a way, the Opera Ghost story had just burrowed into their minds, kindling little fires coming from their own desires. For Christine, there had never been any ghost; Christine did not care for the tales- as she grew older she began to cherish spooky tales less and less, preferring instead the stories of the divine and the benevolent, of Angels. Meg had not known for a long while the root of this love, nor had she realised how deeply that root had grown. If only Christine had told her before the tale Gustave Daae had told his young daughter, of Little Lotte's Angel of Music. It was only when Raoul de Chagny showed up as patron did Christine begin to blossom open, sharing- it was only when the past poked its head out that she begin to accept it.

Meg sat up slowly, her hair falling back from her head as she shook it. It would have been merely a matter of time, Meg mused, before Christine began to wake up from her realm of dreams and found the strength and courage within herself to move on. Raoul had proved that; Raoul had symbolized her past, and yet he had been so in the present, encouraging his childhood sweetheart to come along with him.

That had been why Meg had been so surprised to learn Christine had begun to think of her father more and more, dwelling on the past instead of stretching her new wings in the present. By all means, it made no sense for her to cling to the past the way she did. But now, thinking about it…Meg ran a hand through her hair, hand-coming the tangles out. Now it made perfect sense. The only thing Christine had found in her to hold onto her father's memory was that Angel of Music story, and when a mysterious voice had come to her in an hour of darkness from beyond the window, beyond the opera house, beyond…everything Christine wanted to be beyond…How could Christine move on when she had that enticing hook piercing a piece of her very soul? It all made perfect sense to Meg now.

Meg had heard his voice before, too. Meg had been there during the certain scene in Don Juan Triumphant, in which the most sensual and risqué song in the whole of the opera was played- the Point of No Return. Meg had been there when Piangi- far too…well…_Piangi-like_ to be Don Juan in Meg's existence- had left the stage laughing, as Don Juan did, and when he'd returned.

But…Piangi…?

Everyone had known immediately that Piangi was not the singer on the stage. The man was taller, a more mysterious and exotic figure than Carlotta's lover had been. With an aura of power and a tremendous sensuality behind his every motion, he had entranced the entire audience the moment he had appeared from behind the curtain.

And then, when he'd begun to sing…a smooth, rich, opulent tenor, every note of perfect clarity and pitch. He possessed the resonance of a cello's tone, deep and soft. Meg had felt as though he had been speaking to her- as though it had been she and not Christine to whom that gloved, beckoning hand had pulled closer.

Yes- even now she could admit it to herself, shutting her eyes and reliving the strange moment in which Meg Giry walked towards the character she had then realised was the elusive and enigmatic Phantom of the Opera.

Meg had thought at first that Christine would have realised the figure she had seen as her Angel of Music was only a man- a desperate, violent man. But Christine had made the transition from being attached to a divine figure to being attached to a flesh and blood being easily- and Meg would never have managed to understand that had she not heard him sing, for she herself did not experience any great realization- she herself had seen him in the same light as always. He was mortal, he was very real- and yet she still saw him as the Phantom of the Opera. What else could he have been?

Meg shook her head and stepped out of bed, making her way towards the closet. Within a few moments, she had dressed and headed for the doorway. Just before she left, though, her head swiveled towards the drawer she knew contained a white leather mask. With a sudden jolt, she knew she would have to return it. She should not have taken it in the first place. The opera house had been horribly burned, and Meg knew something about architecture. It would not be the repairing that would take so long, she knew- it would be the smell of smoke. The opera would reek of fire. It would have to be gutted- the walls torn out. Meg almost cried out as the image of the great Opera House- which she always thought of as a Lady, such as the Holy Virgin or one of the heathen goddesses of years ago- seared itself into her brain as stranding in trembling dignity as coarse, cruel men tore her apart, unclothed her. What would happen to the man beneath her?

That thought had come unbidden and Meg became vaguely aware that her body had begun to sway slightly as she stared with dark-eyed intensity on the bureau. Whatever happened to him…if he died…Meg didn't care. But she had stolen something of his, and she would need to return it. If he was going to die…she was going to let him die with dignity. She was going to find a way to give back the mask. Why had she taken it in the beginning? Meg paused, recognizing the growing anger within her.

Well, she didn't have to worry about him taking it, at least during the day. Wasn't that correct? He was a Phantom, and his reigned ended at sunup. But now Meg knew he was a man, and could walk during daytime as well. Thinking it over, she felt that she should be less afraid of him with that in mind- after all, a man had fears, physical needs, moments of embarrassment. He should be less frightening with this realization.

But he wasn't. Meg was more afraid of him now than she'd ever been. Biting her lower lip, she stepped out soundlessly from the room, automatically locking the door though she knew it would mean nothing.

There were cries heard down the hallway from one of the ballerina's dormitories- younger girls, about 9 to 10. Meg crept over to the doorway and looked in. For a moment, it was as though a young pair of girls sat in there laughing nervously, looking around for imaginary hobgoblins- "_Mes petites anges,_" Madame Giry would say with a kind smile. The lovely Christine, all brunette curls and amber eyes, like a precious porcelain doll, and her friend Meg. Meg's smile was tinged with sadness. Even as being introduced as young girls, Meg had always felt less pretty than her friend- even before they'd grown older and had started to think about physical appearances. Christine was such an elegant name, and Meg…well, it was so simple. Marguerite was not terribly beautiful, either. Meg imagined the child she had been- still was, in fact- a tangle of limbs, straw blonde hair in a bow, tulle skirt and dark, intense eyes. Everyone used to tell Meg she came off intensely, as though constantly contemplating things. Christine had never been like that- people were always so at ease around her. Clever, but quiet; supple and pretty, but youthful and innocent. She was constantly praised- "Poor Christine! Such a pity about her father…and her being so young, too! Well, she shows great promise as a dancer, make no mistake, and she's a pretty young thing, too…orphaned or not, she'll be a good bride some day." Meg clenched the doorknob more tightly and forced herself to see the young ballerinas really there, not some childhood memory of a blonde and brunette huddled together whispering.

"What's wrong?" Meg said kindly, looking at the young faces. One, a girl with golden curls, did glance up at her, startled.

"Is it true that the ghost got away?"

Meg smiled kindly, and lied, "No. The ghost has gone away forever," looking not at the children, but at the wall behind them, as though it hid a shadowy figure concealed, listening in. She glared at that wall.

The young girls looked doubtful, but went back to whispering. Meg remembered what that was like- if one of the older girls said something, it was generally considered law.

Meg continued on. She had to ask her mother what would become of them now that this had happened to the opera house.

Mother was not in her room, but Meg was not deterred. She decided to take a shortcut through a door Meg had found at six that led through the walls to Christine's dressing room. She didn't doubt that they'd be there.

She and Christine had ran down this same passage so many times in their young lives- it was an easy way to get from Meg's room to Christine's without being caught, and in the middle of the night they often had gone to visit eachother, after bad dreams, the sort which they'd both often had. The shortcut was eerily empty, though she hadn't expected anyone to be there. If anyone had been there, well...Meg shuddered. Who else would use the passage? Only one other person could possibly know of it…not a man she wanted to run into. Meg considered, at that thought, leaving the mask in this compartment, where he would find it…but she pushed it away immediately. She took his mask herself, and was thinking of leaving it someplace where he might not even find it for a long, long time! No, she'd have to put it somewhere where he was more likely to find it…

Box Five…

Meg blinked. She had just reached the doorway to head to the hallway just outside Christine's room and the words had leapt into her head. _Mais oui!_ It was so perfect; where else would he go? Though…possibly he would not want to go back to Box Five ever again…

Well, too bad, though Meg stubbornly, feeling slightly uneasy with herself. Why was she taking on such vicarious sympathy on his part? He had…she shook her head and forced herself to think. She pressed her ear against the wood. It didn't sound as though someone where out there.

Meg quietly opened the secret door and stepped out, almost noiselessly. Shutting the door behind her, she admired the workmanship. Whoever had made the door had done a splendid job. That it was a door was invisible to the naked eye. You had to be looking for the door, having known where it was, to find it.

Meg turned around and saw with a start, their backs facing her as they talked in low voices- Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae! She cleared her throat to greet them, and the reaction was instantaneous- Raoul spun around and drew his sword in a quick reaction, so sudden Meg was caught off guard.

"Monsieur…" She began, then laughed as she caught Christine's eye. Her friend had also been fearfully confused at the sudden sound, but now looked amused. Raoul seemed embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Miss Giry," he said, sheathing his sword. "Christine assures me that the Phantom will not come after us sometime before we leave, but I still worry…she's probably right, though," he said, though from his furrowed brow, Meg knew he did not truly think that. Meg was not sure of her own opinion, and from Christine's reaction, Christine had probably believed what she'd told Raoul- hence the surprised, almost betrayed look.

"Please, Monsieur le Vicomte, call me Meg," Meg said courteously. Raoul gave her funny look. "Well, then you must call me Raoul," he said slowly. "None of this 'Monsieur le Vicomte'. From my childhood, I still link the title with my mother's voice just before I was punished." Looking at the ceiling, he said in a put-on voice, ""Monsieur le Vicomte, I saw what you did…'"

Meg smiled and Christine tapped his elbow, also smiling. "Those days…" she said in a soft voice, then shook her head, still smiling. Christine had a smile to light up the room.

"Meg, I suppose you…" Her eyes strayed to the wall. Raoul's gaze followed hers, confused and somewhat suspicious.

Meg nodded and he said slowly, "The wall…?"

"A passage," Meg explained, stepping over to them. "We used it in childhood…" Teasingly, she said to him, "You may have played with Christine first, but I got her afterwards."

Raoul smiled and Christine laughed, but Raoul's voice turned serious. "You should have come the long way round…you never know who could be lurking around…"

"In daylight?" Meg whispered, without knowing why she was whispering.

"He is a man. There is no law that says a man may not walk in daylight…and it's dark in those passages, isn't it?"

"Raoul…" Christine began quietly. "He wouldn't…_harm_…"

"But how do you know this?" Raoul's voice was quiet and urgent, and he took her hands quickly, searching her eyes with his own. Meg felt as though she had stepped in on something private. This appeared to be what they'd discussed in low tones when she'd stepped out- the matter of this Phantom Ghost and if he could now be trusted not to harm them. Christine's gaze was pleading; Raoul conceded and looked down. Meg hesitated, then in a tentative voice, spoke.

"Christine…have you seen _maman_?"

Christine looked up. "Oh!" The colour returned to her face and she smiled, as though relieved. "I'm going to speak to her, about the opera…Raoul and I, when we're married…" She trailed off, smiling to herself over this newfound joy, this secret hope. Meg had to prompt her to continue. "And?"

Christine laughed at herself. "We plan to help rebuild it, though it will take a while…I want to know more about this…I was just about to look for her. Raoul?"

She pressed her hand into his and he smiled at her, then told her where she could find him after meeting with Madame Giry.

As he turned and walked off down the hallway, Christine turned to Meg. "And shall we head to her office? She's sure to be there by now."

"Oh, probably," Meg concurred, nodding.

"Come, then!" Christine said, moving towards the wall. "It's the fastest way," she added, to the look on Meg's face. Meg said nothing, but saw Raoul glance back at them before turning and vanishing from sight. She was careful to compose her face while Christine was looking, who had not seen the worried frown on her fiancé's face.

As soon as they'd snuck into the old hallway, which felt much smaller and reminded them that they'd never get those days of innocence back, Meg turned to Christine.

"Christine, we have to talk about something," she began slowly.

"In here?" Christine laughed. "Oh, it's so cramped!" But she caught sight of her friend's solemn expression and sobered, faint worry lines creasing the fair skin. "Meg?" she asked, leaning against the wall and taking care to lower her voice.

Meg leaned in towards her somberly and said in her soft voice, "Christine, about the Phantom…"

Christine was as still as stone and as white as ash, but she nodded her head, lips set in a grim line. "Yes, yes, I thought this was what you'd ask me about…"

"…After all he did…and you trust him?"

There was a long pause in the dark, and Meg heard Christine take a deep breath to steel herself. "Meg," she said finally. "Do you remember me telling you, after the masquerade…?"

Meg listened. She remembered about the masquerade, it had only been a short time ago.

"…sometime before Don Juan…that Raoul had given me that engagement ring, the one I wore-"

"Around your neck the night of the masquerade?" Meg said, gasping suddenly. She had forgotten about that whole thing. The Phantom, in his Red Death costume, had ripped it from her neck before he disappeared. Meg had been vaguely aware of her mother stiffening, the blood draining from her face, as the Phantom arrived—vaguely because his presence had held her attention so much. She hadn't even realised her mother had left the room until the smoke from the Phantom's disappearance had vanished, and she had rushed over to Christine. Raoul, who had leapt after the Phantom, was not there; Christine was terrified that she'd never see him again, and Meg, not sure of where her mother was, had tried to comfort her. Finally Raoul had appeared, and Meg had vanished to her mother's room.

"Yes, that ring…"

Meg nodded her head. "You and Raoul, though…you're still marrying, no?"

Christine said simply, "Yes. Feel my fingers, Meg."

Meg found it somewhat ridiculous that Christine would make sure she knew the ring was there, but she sensed some explanation somewhere underneath all of this, and reached out and took Christine's hands. No ring!

"It's not there…you mean he kept it?"

Christine's voice was quiet. "No, he returned it to me last night."

Meg stared at the dark silhouette of Christine, willing herself to understand. "Christine, did you…" She paused, trying to think. "You gave it back to him?"

Christine stood and straightened, then continued along the dark passage. "I did, Meg…I don't believe he's going to hurt me, or hurt anyone."

_No one but Raoul_, Meg thought, but she was not referring to the noose. She knew that the Phantom was not physically harming Raoul de Chagny, but the look Raoul had given Christine and herself before leaving…

"Christine, do you love Raoul?" Meg said suddenly, her voice soft.

Christine replied in the affirmative. "Yes, but…" She hesitated, then turned back and took Meg's hands suddenly with a quickness that startled the blonde. "Oh, Meg," she whispered, "I don't know what to tell him!"

"Tell who? What?" Meg's voice was hoarse, and she was surprised. Christine didn't love the Phantom…she couldn't possibly!

"Tell Raoul…oh, he worries that my heart belongs to…someone else. It doesn't. I love Raoul- I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him. I love him…but the Phantom…"

Meg looked down at her feet. The wedding dress. The monster that loves.

"It's…it's sort of like a love you won't admit to yourself, isn't it?" Meg said after a moment. Christine's reaction was swift: "Meg, don't think that! He gave me my voice…he was a light when all else was dark…"

_What about me?_ Meg thought, barely able to choke the thought back from her throat. But Christine was not finished speaking.

"…he was my Angel of Music. Oh, Meg, I've grown up so much…I know it sounds so silly. But yesterday, I was so much more a girl. Meg, let me tell you what happened…" Christine leaned back and said softly, "Meg, he took me back down to his lair again…he told me about how he'd wanted all his life for love, how…" Meg heard a deep breath, and sensed Christine was closer to tears than she let on. "...how his mother hated him for his deformity…and- oh, Meg!- he was telling me this when Raoul came, and he let him in…and!…And he tied Raoul to the grate!…"

Meg put her arms around Christine, who hugged Meg back, but continued the story in a terrified whisper. "He told me that I had two choices- either to stay with him forever…or…or…" Christine's voice got softer and softer. "Or he'd…Oh, Meg!…"

"I understand," Meg whispered back, shutting her eyes, rubbing Christine's shoulder. This man! Beast! What he'd done…oh, Meg knew what she'd do…use the mask to lure him out, and the police would get him…No, Meg wouldn't do that; she would never do something so cruel! She quickly shoved that thought away.

"Meg, you know what I chose. In the wedding dress he'd sewn me, I waded out in that filthy water he'd stared at for years of his life and I kissed him. Meg, that moment…I should have been frightened and timid in that moment, but I wasn't. It all dawned on me then. Raoul was my childhood friend, but what I had for him was more than childhood longings. And this man was not the Angel of Music. He was not the Phantom of the Opera. Meg, he was a man sick with love. A _man_, Meg! And he loved me. He loved me." Christine repeated the words to herself reverently, as though they were delicate and about to crumble in her careless memory.

"Meg, he had _lied_ to me. He was not a divine teacher. He was not a gift from heaven. He was a man from below who spent hours at my dressing room mirror _watching_ me, and finally found out my secret- that my father had told me of an Angel of Music that would teach me to sing and be great, and he sang to me. I believed he was the Angel. I believed he was my father's spirit. He knew this, and he used it to his advantage. He manipulated my childish mind because he wished to one day possess my heart, soul…body…"

Meg pulled back slowly, dazed and disturbed by what she heard, and by the calm tone in which Christine spoke. She pulled back until she was looking directly into Christine's eyes.

"He told me to never see Raoul again not because it was an earthly distraction but because he knew of our potential for love. He took me down to where he lived and though I thought I knew he was a man did, it was not until that moment that I kissed him that I really knew it! He was nothing but a man…a desperate man in love with me…And so you see, Meg, he will not harm me. He will not harm anyone."

Meg stared back, swallowing. Could Christine really believe this? It did not sound sane. It sounded as though beneath the opera house lived a mad murderer ready to begin picking off the younger ballerinas one by one…

Suddenly and without warning, Christine laughed. "Oh, Meg," she cried, smiling. "You don't understand. You're like I was- seeing an Angel of Music when there is none. You still envision a fearful Opera Ghost…you need to have that same moment I had when I kissed him and knew everything- the moment I grew up."

Meg swallowed again, thoughts racing. Though Christine had not meant it, she had confirmed Meg's own belief that she was a child, and Christine was an adult. In a manner uncharacteristic of herself, Meg said slowly, "So…you're saying…that I need to kiss the Phantom of the Opera?"

Christine laughed. It sounded like bells ringing in the winter air.

"Metaphorically speaking…yes! Oh, Meg, some day you'll understand what I mean…"

Meg stood and Christine stood with her. Looking up at the tall outline of her friend, Meg knew that Christine had aged, and was more than Little Lotte now. She smiled, but sadly. Somehow she knew they would have to escape all this.

"_Maman_ is probably out there wondering where _we_ are," she said finally, almost in a croak.

Christine laughed once more. "Oh, you're right. This little talk lasted much longer than I'd expected it to."

The rest of the short journey was completed in silence with the exception of Christine and Meg whispered in delighted breaths that someone might think they were the Phantom if they heard their footsteps in the walls. It made Meg feel like they were the carefree children they had been- without lustful Phantoms trailing angelic Christine and trying to murder her young fiancé. She shook the thought from her head. She and Raoul both knew he was a danger, but Christine…Could she truly be right? She had sounded so sure, and so absolute…Meg had believed her for an instant. It was hard to not believe her. She seemed so much wiser than the norm…

After spending a short while with their ears pressed against the wooden door, listening for others, Christine and Meg left the passageway. As they had predicted, no one was there, and they shut the invisible door and continued.

"Oh, I hope she is there," Meg said aloud as they hurried along to her mother's room. "I don't know where else she'd be."

"I'm sure she'll be there, Meg," Christine said, smiling at her, and they walked up to the doorway and knocked.

"_Bonjour?_"

"_Maman, c'est moi,"_ Meg called, and Christine added, "And Christine, me, too."

The door opened.

"Good day, Madame Giry," Christine said brightly to the woman in the doorway. While not terribly tall and with an air of ease about her, Madame Giry was, in her subtle way, an imposing woman. Her own calm intensity she had passed down to her daughter. She smiled at Christine and nodded her head, leaning against the doorway effortlessly.

"Good morning, Christine, Meg," she said, looking at the girls. "You 'ave not been causing trouble?"

Meg smiled at her mother. When they had been younger, and they went to speak with her, it always seemed that they had come for sanctuary after doing some awful thing- knocking over a prop after placing hide-and-go-seek on the stage, playing with one of Carlotta's puppies and in the process, leading it away so it was presumed to be lost, things of that nature. Everything seemed so silly now, but looking back, it had been so big a disaster. Meg found it odd that everything from her childhood was being paired with such mature situations. It was as though life made mockery of them, or perhaps tried to keep everything in perspective.

"No, of course not," Meg said in answer to her mother's question. "_Maman_, I wanted to ask- and so does Christine- about the opera. What's going to happen to us?"

Madame Giry nodded her head knowingly. "_Oui_, this is expected. Christine, you and Raoul, you are going to fund the Opera, _non_?"

Christine nodded. "We talked about it. We are."

"_Bon_. It will need all the help there is."

Meg frowned at that, biting her lip. That same picture of the glorious opera house disgraced fluttered into her mind. "But- _maman_- it has been our home- where will we?- how long will it-?"

Madame Giry averted her gaze. "It will take a while to take care of it, yes. If money is taken care of-" she looked up at Christine, who nodded one more- "then we shall be back and rehearsing in 6 months-"

"Six months!" Christine and Meg both gasped at the same time.

"Six months," Madame Giry went on, nodding her head, "and they will still be constructing. Per'aps in a year, we will be ready to have operas performed once more. But the opera house will not be fully restored for at least two years."

Meg glanced at Christine, who was looking at Madame Giry with a concentration of her energy and thought that startled Meg. Christine spoke up suddenly.

"Madame Giry, what will happen to him, if you are not at the opera house for six months?"

Meg stared.

"Ah. You worry for the safety of our opera ghost," Madame Giry said, nodding her head again, with a calm Meg strongly suspected she did not truly possess. "'E will be fine, Christine."

"You're not worried he will starve?"

"'E will not starve. You 'ave my word."

Meg stirred uncomfortably, put off ease by the communion between them. She had always sometimes felt that her mother felt closer to Christine than she…and perhaps she was right about it…

Madame Giry turned to Meg. "Marguerite," she said, bringing her daughter out of her insecurities. "Why don't you go get your coat?" Choosing to look over Meg's startled surprise, she continued. "We're going out shopping for new boots. I noticed you needed another pair. Christine," she said, turning to the brunette, "may I 'ave a quick word?"

As Christine and Madame Giry stepped into the room, Meg's mother looked back at her and said, "I'll be ready by the time you return."

Meg nodded, and the door shut. Perhaps she was going to get some answers after all…but not to any of the questions really burning.

Like, how was she going to get the mask to Box Five if the opera was going to be rebuilt? And what was she going to do about Christine- was her friend even right? Sighing, Meg continued along the way to her room to get her coat.


End file.
